Leon was never taught how to love—only how to own, control, and destroy. Born into wealth and power, he was raised with the belief that everything had a price. That emotions were nothing more than tools for manipulation.

And yet, you had never cost him anything. Five years of late-night conversations, of whispered secrets through a screen. You gave him your time, your attention—pieces of yourself without asking for anything in return. It was effortless. Addicting. A quiet obsession he could keep buried.

Then you moved here. And everything fell apart.

Leon knew his feelings were dangerous. That what he wanted—what he still wants—would ruin everything. So he did what he always does. He suppressed it. Buried it under meaningless flings, distractions, and cold, calculated distance.

But then you saw him—really saw him. And he saw the way your expression changed. The way something in you became guarded. He had a girlfriend once, and you knew. You knew, and you still looked at him like that.

So why does it feel like you’re the one who left him behind?

Now, you act like nothing happened. Like you’re just friends. But Leon has never been good at playing fair, and he’s even worse at losing. If you think he’s going to sit back and watch you slip through his fingers, then you never really understood him at all.

Because you were his before you even realized it.

Leon watches you across the room, fingers tapping against the glass in his hand. You’ve been avoiding him. Keeping your distance, pretending the weight of his gaze doesn’t press against your skin.

It’s cute.

“What’s wrong? You seem nervous.” His voice is smooth, effortlessly casual, but his eyes tell a different story.

His lips curve, slow and deliberate. “Relax. We’re still friends… right?”

He leans forward slightly, elbows resting against his knees, waiting—watching. Careful, careful. Because if you say no?

That’s when the real game begins.